Scrapbooks
by Inudaughter Returns
Summary: Torvald is moving away from Hillwood. Mr. Simmons has the class make a scrapbook for him. When Arnold winds up making a scrapbook for himself, too, Arnold realizes Torvald's not the only one whose life has been changing.
The big news swirled around P.S. 118's classroom like wildfire. It was a broad flame, diminished only by the fact that summer vacation was a mere two weeks away. Summer break was even greater news, and it would also be time enough for everyone to get over the loss of one classmate.

"Did you hear?" said Sid for the millionth time. Arnold watched him as the boy leaned over on his chair to gossip with others. This time it was Miss Rhonda Lloyd. "Torvald is moving. His mother bought a trailer home next to her sister's in some midwestern state. She's going to work at a different restaurant. So Torvald is going to move in three weeks!"

"Just three weeks!" exclaimed Rhonda. "Poor boy. That's sudden. But I suppose it is a step up for Torvald." Rhonda rolled her eyes. Torvald, without debate, lived in the very worst part of the neighborhood. It was part of the reason his mother kept a pitbull chained to their front porch- to keep their dubious neighbors at bay.

"Well, I personally, am glad for the boy," Rhonda said continuing to speak for herself until she got bored of it and unrolled a fashion magazine to read instead. Sid got up and walked off to find someone else to tell the latest gossip to.

Arnold was not extremely sad to lose Torvald. The two had become almost friends, at least not opponents, ever since he had helped Torvalt with math problems. Torvald had even volunteered to help them play football once before he twisted his ankle. But mainly, the two had little interaction in the classroom and Torvald did not even attend all the days of school. There were many friends Arnold knew and liked better. But Arnold hated to see anyone suffer and so when Torvald sat down at his desk with a gloomy expression, Arnold felt bad for the boy.

"I wish there was something we could do about it," Arnold spoke in earnest to Mr. Simmons as he erased his chalkboard at the end of the school day. "I mean, I wish there was some way to make the big move easier." Mr. Simmons paused his chalkboard eraser. Arnold coughed away some of the dust.

"Well, Torvald does have some big changes ahead of him. But so do you, Arnold. The other teachers have agreed that due to the 'special circumstances' of your class, I'm going to be teaching fifth grade next year, but we're still going to be moving to a new classroom. We might be getting several new students and all of you will be a little older. Things change, Arnold. That's just a fact of life. That's part of what makes it special. We should cherish the little every day things that make our lives significant while we still have them."

"I'll try to remember that," said Arnold. Mr. Simmons gave Arnold a squinted look as an idea came to him. It was one of his more brilliant brainstorms.

"You know what, Arnold," said Mr. Simmons. "Why don't we all do one final art project, starting tomorrow! Let's all make a scrapbook for Torvald to take with him. That way, he can take all the good memories of his time here at P.S. 118 with him to Kansas."

"Okay," said Arnold warming up to the idea. "How can I help?"

"Well," said Mr. Simmons reaching into his back pocket for a wallet and pulling out a ten. "Could you do me favor and go to the arts and crafts store for me? Just pick out something you think he'd like. Then we'll add pictures and signatures. I'd do it myself, but I have things to do today. I'd be really grateful if you'd complete this important task!"

"Well, okay, I'll do it," said Arnold accepting the creased bill.

"Atta boy, Arnold!" said Mr. Simmons collecting papers for his desk. "I'll see you tomorrow at school. Alright?"

"Right," Arnold agreed looking down at the money in his hand. Without a doubt, Mr. Simmons was extremely thoughtful to his students.

The arts and crafts store was a short walk away. The shop bell rang merrily as Arnold entered it. Arnold startled as he nearly tripped over Helga in one of the aisles. "Watch it Football-Head!" she snapped nearly dropping the red plaid ribbon she held in her hand. Carefully, she set it back on the shelf.

"Helga? What are you doing here?"

"Oh, just buying some stuff," said Helga. She walked over to the counter and began to unload a shopping basket filled with glue, colored pencils, tape, pink ribbon, purple pens, and pink stationary. The cashier rang her out speedily.

"Say," said Arnold pointing to the store's stationary display. "I almost feel like I've seen that notebook before." Arnold pointed to a pink journal with a pricetag stickered neatly on the corner. Helga gave out a nervous laugh.

"Heh. Funny thing, Football-Head. Only I think you'd do better choosing another color. Pink just doesn't suit you, Arnoldo. Try blue."

"Hm," Arnold said with dull incomprehension. His eyes drifted across the display again but he shrugged. He wasn't here to get a journal for himself.

"Do you have any picture scrapbooks?" Arnold asked the salesclerk when she had finished ringing out Helga. She smiled broadly.

"Today's your lucky day!" the clerk said, walking with Arnold a few steps deeper into the store to a white wire bin. "Buy one, get one free!" She pulled out one of the scrapbooks for example. "Only ten dollars each!"

"Hm," Arnold said examining the bin. He rifled through and pulled out two he liked. Then Arnold fished out the ten dollar bill Mr. Simmons had given to him. He had to pay the tax with his own change.

"Here you go, Mr. Simmons," said Arnold handing over the two scrapbooks to Mr. Simmons at school the next day. "They were having a buy one, get one free sale."

"Why don't you keep the second scrapbook for yourself, then?" Mr. Simmons offered handing back a blue scrapbook to Arnold. "I'm sure you have lots of pictures to organize."

"Well, okay," said Arnold accepting the scrapbook back. He smiled. It was a good idea.

"Okay. Class!" said Mr. Simmons standing up at his podium. "Today we have a very special project! As you all know, our friend and fellow classmate, Torvald, will be moving at the end of school term this year. So for this weekend's homework, I want you all to bring in one picture of yourself to give to Torvald. Our class will be creating a 'class scrapbook' to give to him. "Alright?" There were some interested nods around the room.

That night, after school, Arnold used his remote control to open the sliding panel to his mini closet beside his bed. Then he crawled inside and began to sort through it. His kite was in there, alongside some sports equipment. But there at the back, deep in the shadows was a shoebox with all sorts of photos and few newspaper clippings in it. Arnold grasped hold of the box with two hands, then gently eased his way out of the closet. But he lifted his head a few moments too soon and slammed his head on the trimboard. Arnold lifted a hand and rubbed his head delicately.

"Okay," Arnold muttered in ill temper as he backed out of his closet more carefully. Then, slowly, he stood up and set the box on his desk.

"Hm," Arnold said prying open the lid. He slid a handful of photos under the lamplight,

There were a few newspaper clippings in there, too. One was of the play, Romeo and Juliet, that he had performed in. In the black and white photo accompanying it, Arnold stood onstage, with his hand upraised to Helga on the balcony above. It was a miracle the play had received good reviews from a very harsh drama critic, and so Arnold had kept the clipping as a momento.

The second newspaper clipping was the Spelling Bee contest Arnold had won. Arnold was almost certain that Helga had forfeited. But he was never quite sure. But there, on the news clippings photo, she stood on the platform as the runner up. In the center of the picture, Arnold posed beside a very large trophy.

So Arnold flipped to the third newspaper clipping. It was almost an oddity. There Helga was again. This time it was the sand building contest he and Helga had won at the beach. The prize had been a guest appearance on a beach-themed television show, "Babewatch". Arnold blushed at the memory because Helga had decided to push the actress out of the way and be the one to give him CPR.

The final newspaper clipping was of Arnold waving his hand from a stage at City Hall. Helga's father stood at the side at a podium, smiling as if for a commercial. Arnold recalled that day, the memory growing ever solid and more distinct. Helga had asked her father for money to build Arnold's float design for the city's founder's day parade. Bob had disliked the design. But when Arnold had stopped the top-heavy float from its downtown runaway, Bob had been grateful enough to give Arnold credit for the float when it won first prize in the float competition. It hit Arnold's stomach like a ton of bricks. In every single one of these events, Helga was there.

With an almost mechanical compulsion, Arnold began to sort through the photographs in the box. He made two piles- photos with Helga in them and photos without Helga. Many times he had stop and say to himself, no there is Helga lurking in the background with a slouch and a frown on her face! There is Helga's bow! Somehow Helga had interposed herself into a dozen shots of Arnold and Gerald- chatting and laughing with Phoebe, skipping rope in front of his house, chewing the nub of a pencil as she examined a page, playing baseball with the guys, stalking a pigeon… When Arnold was finished, the stack of photos with Helga in them was rather large. But none of them, Arnold noticed with a frown, were of Helga by herself.

Arnold had a large picture of Lila, which he found distasteful now. He had pictures of most of the boys at P.S. 118. Arnold had countless holiday photographs featuring the boarders and his grandparents. There were photographs of Abner; and a multitude of himself, crawling, walking, entering school, and growing up to today. But as Arnold leant on his arm he realized there was one great wrong. Even though they were friends now, even though they had shared so much, Arnold had no good photos of Helga.

This was an irony because Arnold knew Helga had at least one photo of him! They had been at a park one day playing baseball and Helga had gone all around the gang taking pictures of each. Then, last of all she had dropped before him on her knees and angled the camera up at his face.

"Um, Helga, why are you doing that?" Arnold could recall himself saying.

"Because, Football-Head, if I do this, it makes you look taller!" Helga had snapped. Arnold had grinned slyly back, impressed by Helga's perpetual shrewdness.

Lost in thought, Arnold began to glue the photographs and newspaper clippings into the blue scrapbook. It was difficult work to get everything organized and glued down perfectly. The hours flew by. Before Arnold had reached the end of his pile, he heard Grandma's cowboy dinner chime being rung. It was chili night, and Arnold dug into his bowl with his spoon. He gobbled down the sloppy mixture as quickly as possible, then lept up to return to his room.

"Where's the fire, Shortman?" Arnold's Grandpa said to him. Arnold froze in pause, then whirled around swiftly.

"Sorry! I'm working on something, Grandpa."

"Like what?"

"It's a scrapbook."

"Oh, I love scrapbooks!" said Arnold's Grandma clapping her hands.

"Well, may be I can show it to you later," remarked Arnold. He rushed back upstairs to his room.

When Arnold was done, he had three full pages of pictures with Helga standing with a few other kids. But two whole other pages he left blank. He left the space bare in case he could get some better pictures of Helga for the scrapbook. Then, slowly, lost in a daze of memories, Arnold walked down the stairs, his hand sliding along the banister for comfort, the big, bulky scrapbook tucked under his second arm.

At the base of the stairs, Arnold turned and slowly walked towards the kitchen. His grandmother would love to see his work, he knew. But somehow, Arnold felt as much modesty as pride in his project. Suddenly, the blank-paged piece of clutter had transformed into a precious relic. Arnold looked down at the blue-covered scrapbook in his hand and wondered if he had done justice to the memories of his youth.

But now was the time for a careful, critical evaluation, So Arnold shuffled into the kitchen and laid the book down on the kitchen table. Then he waited for his grandparents to notice him.

"Oh, Arnold!" said Grandma hustling over in a flutter. She pressed her clasped hands to her heart. "I just love scrapbooks! Let's see!" She stood by Arnold's side and together they flipped through the pages one by one. Grandpa sat down at the other end of the table.

"Argh!" Arnold flustered, rubbing at one of the pages with his finger. "This glue stain! I messed this one all up!"

"Don't be so hard on yourself, Arnold," said Pookie. "It's your very first scrapbook, and it's still beautiful just the way it is. Objects can be imperfect just like people. It just adds a bit of character." Grandma Pookie winked.

"You bet it does!" said Grandpa waving his sandwich around so that a few crumbs flew in Arnold's direction. The boy yanked the scrapbook further away.

"Grandpa!" Arnold complained loudly, his eyes cross. Arnold tilted the book and brushed the crumbs off in a hurry.

"Sorry, Shortman. You sure have gotten into this scrapbook thing, haven't you?"

"I guess I have," said Arnold turning the pages fondly. There, across one page Gerald and his family smiled as Arnold sat at dinner with them. Then on the next, Arnold, Stinky, and Eugene posed before the race cart, 'The Mauve Storm' before Eugene crashed it into oblivion.

Arnold hurried past photos of Ernie in his wrecker, 'The Terminator', and Mr. Hyuyn playing guitar. He found just the page he was looking for- the pages he had left blank for photos of Helga.

"What's the matter, Shortman?" asked Grandpa as Arnold flipped back and forth between

the blank pages and the photos where Helga lurked in the background. "Something got you in a funk?" Arnold gave out a deep sigh. He continued to flip back and forth among the pages, then spoke.

"It's a funny thing, Grandpa. It's just that I can't complete the scrapbook. It's missing something."

"Missing something?" said Grandpa in all seriousness. "Now what would that be?"

"Well," said Arnold looking up. "When I was going through my photographs I noticed I don't have any of Helga. None that are really, good anyway."

"And that bugs you, huh?" said Grandpa. As quick as a blink, his serious frown flipped upside-down into an amused, all-knowing grin.

"Hm, Shortman," said Grandpa scratching his chin. "Tomorrow's Saturday. All you have to do is go over to her house and ask her for her picture."

"Hm. Yeah, that's what I'll do! Thanks, Grandpa!" said Arnold standing up to go out of the room.

"Would you like to put your scrapbook on the shelf in the living room?" asked Grandma. "There's plenty of room."

"No thanks, Grandma," said Arnold. "I'd like to keep it upstairs with me." Arnold gave the blue book under his arm one last look and cracked into a pearly grin. The moment he vanished from sight, his Grandma 'Pookie' Gertie and Grandpa Phil tilted their heads together and shared a loving, all-seeing smile.

"Won't be long now before the boy has a full-on crush of his little one-eye-browed friend."

"I think it's sweet," said Gertie. "She reminds me of me when I was a little girl. So charming and adorable."

"I think you're thinking of another Eleanor," replied Grandpa while chewing on his sandwich.

The following day, Arnold woke up bright and early. He ate sugar-coated cereal, watched three hilarious cartoon shows, then checked his clock. Ten-thirty was safe enough to guess that Helga would be awake. Arnold fished his bus pass out of a drawer. Then he prowled outside to catch the bus.

Arnold lived on one side of the broad, concrete, overpass. Helga lived on the other end in a line of well-kept row houses. Halfway inbetween, a few houses had been converted to single homes, like that of Rhonda Lloyd. She lived almost directly underneath the area that had been blown-up during the FTI incident, so her part of the neighborhood was filled with construction noise these days. Her parents were considering buying a different house to avoid the din of construction machinery.

Arnold watched the neighborhood roll by as he rode the bus, his hand on the upright bar pole. The bus driver gave him a suspicious glare. There was no doubt that rumors of Arnold's role in the whole runaway bus incident had got out, so he gave the bus driver a false, cheery grin. It was just enough to convince the bus driver that he would behave himself.

Then the bus stopped at the stop nearest to Helga's house and Arnold got off. The bus driver drove off as fast as he was able. Arnold coughed and waved away the exhaust smoke. It was only natural. Although the papers had reported it as a freak accident because of a malfunctioning fake leg, Arnold was a large part of the reason there was no longer a bus number thirteen. Plus the bus drivers in town had always had an attitude to begin with.

But Arnold's travel worries drifted away when his steps brought him meters close within Helga's house. Blue paint like the sky made its facade strikingly different from any other house in the neighborhood. Its front door floated at the top of steps that glowed white with the morning sun.

Arnold was leary of Helga's peculiar parents. Both of them were difficult. He'd heard and seen a dozen tales of Miriam's irresponsibility. From Arnold's own encounters with Big Bob, Arnold found him a consistent jerk. It was small wonder then that Helga had such a temper.

Yet, despite all the unlikeliness that Arnold would befriend the lonely girl, he had. Arnold rung the doorbell- then hoped. He rested his hands behind his back as he waited for the door to open in response, wishing the one to answer it would be Helga and definitely not her fearsome father. His hopes proved true. Helga opened the door wide and blinked to work her brow down to its customary scowl. But for a few brief moments, Arnold caught sight of an expression of blissful peace. The few moments brought a content smile to his face.

"Hey, Helga," said Arnold keeping his arms carefully folded behind his back. Arnold looked away awkwardly. A photograph kind of was a large favor to ask.

"What do you want, Football-Head?" Helga demanded, making him work. Arnold steeled himself. Helga was unforgiving of cowardice. So he stepped forward and looked in her face instead. The quick motion so startled her that she pulled her hand up across her chest in a curl.

"There's something I wanted to talk to you about, Helga. There's something I'm missing, and it's well, you," Arnold fumbled. Helga's eyes opened wide.

"Well, gee Arnoldo!" said Helga flushing. "I never expected you to...to say that!" Helga stumbled, her mind whirling. But Arnold's next words stopped her celebration entirely.

"So do you have a photograph I can have?"

"A what?" she echoed.

"You know. A photograph. For a scrapbook."

"Wait a minute," said Helga, her exhilaration winding down into a censored rage. Her hands knotted at her hips, although Arnold was too dense to know why.

"You mean all this is about Mr. Simmon's school project."

"Sort of. I'm making a scrapbook for me, too." Helga caught her breath.

"Why? Are you moving, too, or somethin', Arnoldo?"

"No, I'm not moving," said Arnold, sensing dangerous footing. He chose his next words with especial care.

"I'm not moving, but there was a buy one, get one sale so Mr. Simmons let me keep the second scrapbook. I've filled it in but I've kept a couple of pages open for pictures of… well, you!"

"Me!" said Helga gesturing to herself. "Whatever for!"

"Well, you're my friend, Helga!" said Arnold with such force and in such close proximity that Helga took a step back for space.

"I'm sorry to disappoint you, Arnold, but I'm having the same problem with my homework! I just don't have any pictures of me."

"You don't?" said Arnold tilted his head in confusion. Bewilderment stenciled across his face.

"Ah, no?" explained Helga. "You know how my family is. Everyone is always excited about OLGA and so there are few pictures of me. Definitely none good."

"Well," said Arnold thinking. "How about we take a few pictures of you? Then we'll drop off the film at the 24-hour photo."

Hm," said Helga thinking. "I think you're onto something, Arnoldo! Give me a second to get ready, alright?" Arnold waited by the door. As he did so, Miriam came to the door with a smile.

"Why, isn't it Helga's little friend, Arthur!"

"It's Arnold."

"Arnold, right," Miriam said casting a dismissive hand his way. "Well, so glad to see you two are getting along. It's good for Helga to have little friends."

"Little. Right," Arnold frowned. Like he needed to hear anymore jokes about him being short. Helga hustled through the door with a camera in her hand and looked suspiciously up at her mother.

"What are you two talking about?"

"Oh, nothing, dear," said Miriam. "Have fun working on your homework. Bye, bye," she said slamming the door shut so that the wind gusted Helga's skirt forward.

"Sheesh," Helga uttered in mild complaint. But then like a bird, she hopped off the stoop steps to land on the sidewalk with arms outstretched like wings.

"So," Helga said turning toward Arnold. "Where do you want to go?"

"We might try the park," Arnold offered. The two went for a stroll. The grassy green was much more pleasant than the blue of Helga's house after all. The two were in no hurry so they paused at the pond to throw rocks since it was Helga's favorite occupation. Then, they paused to gaze at the clouds. Arnold and her lay in opposite directions, so that she was upside down to his vision. Her hair drifted beside his sneakers, and vice versa.

So," said Helga looking up at the blue of the sky. "Scrapbooks, or not, fifty years from now do you think we'll remember anything? A youth so 'young and carefree'?"

"Well," Arnold said, his head nested on his arms behind him. "I don't know about 'young and carefree'! But I do think we'll remember something. And you're never too old to be young at heart," he said thinking of his grandparents.

"Hm," Helga said to that, then returned to watching the clouds. "There's your scottish terrier, again."

"Yeah," said Arnold with content. After a time, they ran out of clouds and so Arnold and Helga gathered themselves to their feet. Helga brushed her sleeve off.

"So, where to, Arnoldo?" Helga asked jauntily. Arnold adjusted the camera now around his neck.

"Well, maybe you should stand in front of that tree over there! Or sit on the bench in front of the tree. Yeah, that'd make a good picture." Helga fooled around with several supermodel poses she had seen in her days as the 'It Girl'.

"Helga!" Arnold scowled lowering the camera. "This picture is for Torvald! Do you really want him to see that?"

"Good point," said Helga lowering her legs from the bench and dropping her hands to her lap for a cute and innocent look. Arnold pressed the camera's button several times.

"So. About the picture you wanted. What would you like?" Helga asked Arnold with such brashness it took his breath away. He thought.

"Well, I'd like to try a few photographs so I have a set choose from. Is that already with you?"

"Fine by me," Helga answered with a shrug. "Direct away!"

Arnold did have some ideas in mind. First he posed Helga in front of grass and a patch of flowers, then the pond. He asked her to sit on a crooked branch of a tree and last but not least, Arnold gestured toward her bow.

"Sit there at the far end of the bench," said Arnold pointing. He then stood up on the park bench beside her and aimed the camera down from above, twisting slightly to get her face in the shot as much as possible.

"Huh?" said Helga slightly turned.

"Don't move!" Arnold complained before he pressed the camera's button in a string of clicks. Then he hopped down from the park bench and handed the camera back to Helga.

"There!" Arnold announced. "I hope some of them come out."

"They will," Helga said with relaxed certainty.

"So do you want to take photos of me, next?" asked Arnold pointing both thumbs towards himself.

"You? Whatever for?" asked Helga although secretly she was delighted!

"Well, just because we're here!"

"Good reason enough," said Helga lifting the camera to her eye.

When Monday rolled around, Helga had her picture of herself to turn in as her homework. But she also had a little packet of pictures to give to Arnold, too, which she did with some bashfulness.

"Here you go, Arnoldo!"

"Thanks." Arnold opened the paper envelope, then smiled. "Hey, these turned out pretty good!"

"They did," said Helga stretching out the neck of her shirt collar before Arnold returned to his desk and tucked the paper envelope inside. He folded his hands together on his desk in perfect calm.

As school had ended, Arnold chatted with Harold and Stinky for a time. He met up with Gerald for the bus ride home and they talked about sports, Timberly being a pest, and home movies. Then, since they both had math homework to do, they parted ways to go home.

Whenever he got home, Arnold usually rummaged around the kitchen for a snack. But for today, he thundered up the stairs and dropped his book bag on his desk chair. Arnold opened his desk drawer and pulled out the scrapbook.

"Let's see," the boy said examining the photos in the light. His heart stuck in his throat immediately.

She was beautiful in her own way. Although Helga still had her monobrow, her face in the photographs was frozen in time with the happy smile that Arnold so rarely saw. A gentle smile drifted across the boy's face and he laid the photographs down in front of him.

Slowly, Arnold picked out his favorite of the photos. Then he reached into a smaller desk drawer for his bottle of glue. But after he had dabbed a tiny bit of glue on each corner and prepared to drop it down into the page, he froze. He could not do it. For some reason unknown to him, Arnold could not bear to finish the task he was so near to completing. Instead, he flipped back and forth between the pages examining all the photographs with Helga in the background again. Then he walked downstairs for his snack after all.

"Hm? What's the matter now, Shortman?" said Grandpa Phil sensing his mood as Arnold dropped down next to him on the living room sofa. Arnold tapped his fingers against the armrest glumly.

"I don't know what's wrong with me, Grandpa," Arnold said in all honesty. But the happiness he had felt earlier this afternoon was gone, all gone, just as surely as one might pull a plug out of a drain.

Wednesday was the big day to give the class made scrapbook to Torvald, and he accepted it politely. But Torvald was not exactly happy. There were only two more days left till the end of the school term, and one week left before his big move. So Arnold decided to visit the former bully one more time.

"Hello?" asked Arnold knocking on his front door. Torvald's mother met him at the door.

"Oh, Arnold!" she said with great anxiety. "Have you seen my little Torvy?" Arnold looked around. It was daylight yet, so she needn't be too worried.

"Do you know where he could have gone?"

"Torvy was so upset about having to move he and I had a little falling out. I'd hoped he'd come to terms with going to Kansas, sooner, but he's not. My poor little Torvy! So alone and so afraid!"

"I'm sure he's just fine," Arnold assured her, his eyes slanted. After all, he was a former bully.

Arnold did not know if truly, he could find Torvald. But as he walked past Holly's Chocolates, Arnold did a double take as he did find Torvald. The boy bolted past the green dumpsters and hid in the alley but Arnold was on his heels.

"Torvald," Arnold said, his hands at his waist. "What are you doing?"

"I don't want to go to Kansas!" said Torvald. "I don't want things to change. I'm afraid! Everything will be so different, Arnold. I won't know what to do or say. So I've decided to run away. If I don't go home, maybe my mother will give up on moving!"

"Torvald," Arnold stated with flat reason. "Your mother is worried sick about you! And running away isn't going to change anything. Your mother has a brand-new job waiting for her, and a new house waiting for you."

"I know," said Torvald looking down before he rose to his feet. "You're right, Arnold. It's just so terrifying having things change. I just don't know what will happen next."

"No, you don't," said Arnold. "But you have to be brave. Your mother is counting on you. You and her only have each other."

"Yeah, I know," said Torvald. "But we'll have my aunt, too!" said the boy cheering up. "I hope she's cool."

"That's a good attitude to have," Arnold said as he discreetly walked Torvald home. His mother opened her back porch door and embraced her son with tears.

Feeling better about himself, Arnold went home. One last day of school for him and everyone in his fourth grade class. After this, his time as a fourth grader was ended. Torvald was gone and who knew what else would happen to their class as they moved onto the fifth grade. Stunned, Arnold froze in his chair as the last bell rung. He realized all of a sudden he knew exactly what Torvald felt like.

"Mr. Simmons?" said Arnold handing his teacher an eraser that had fallen from the blackboard to leave a white mark on the floor. Mr. Simmons gave him a concerned frown.

"What's the matter, Arnold?"

"Well, over this past week I've come to realize something. I realized that I know exactly how Torvald feels… that the future is scary in a way. It's full of a lot of unknown. And there isn't anything we can do about it!" Arnold pouted as if this point was unfair. Perhaps it was.

"Yes," said Mr. Simmons thinking over his answer. "Change is very challenging. Moving to a new state is a big challenge. Moving our class to a new classroom down the hall will be, too. But sometimes change isn't just a 'where' Arnold. Sometimes changes happen where we can't see them. People change, Arnold. And kids like yourself grow up, not just by getting taller, but in here!" said Mr. Simmons folding a hand over his own heart. "Do you understand, Arnold? Change is a necessary thing, like the autumn. Even if we don't look forward to winter, there is always hope that there will be a spring. Does all that make sense, Arnold?" Arnold craned his head up at his teacher.

"Yeah, it does," he said. "But what if the change is how I feel about someone? What if it is different than it was before? What if someone who wasn't very important to me before, somehow has become important?" Mr. Simmons smiled.

"Then you'll just have to believe in yourself and be the special person that you are. If you do, you'll find your own way to show the one you care about they're special too."

"I guess," said Arnold full of doubt.

"And don't hurry!" Mr. Simmons added quickly before Arnold could stay despondent. "Give yourself all the time that you need to find your own way. Because no one can find that way but you!"

"Thanks, Mr. Simmons," said Arnold. "See you next fall?" Arnold offered his favorite teacher a friendly handshake.

"See you next fall!" Mr. Simmons agreed to the deal. He smiled as he watched the last fourth grade student walk out of the classroom.

Arnold Shortman made his way back home. He watched television, ate dinner, then made his way to his room at the top of the boarding house. Arnold switched on the light to his desk and pulled the scrapbook from his drawer, along with glue and some pictures.

"Alright!" said Arnold taking a deep breath. He pasted down his selected photos of Helga then rested his fingertips on the page.

A sea of emotion drifted up as Arnold stared at the page. He stared for a long time, trying to tamp down his confusion. Somehow the photographs filled him with an affection he did not know he had. And toward Helga no less!

After staring for several hours without coming to any conclusion, Arnold closed the scrapbook between his hands. He pressed it against his chest instead and looked up at the gathering stars through his window. He knew that somewhere out there tonight, Helga would be getting some sleep so that she would be ready for their big baseball game tomorrow. Arnold changed into his pajamas. He slid the scrapbook below his pillow for safekeeping and pulled the covers over his ears. Then he switched out the light. He knew that after his sleep, the future waited for him tomorrow. Whether he was ready for it or not. The end.


End file.
